Page 10 of Peripheral Vision

“Want to go outside?” I ask. I stand up slowly, my body aching in protest, and reach for my shoes. Alaska starts bouncing around, the anticipation almost more than she can handle. Even though this is a new neighborhood, I’ve trained her well enough that I’m confident she won’t run off, even without a fence to keep her in. But I followher anyway, stepping into the cool morning air. The breeze causes me to shiver, leading me to fold in on myself to get warm. Looking down, I realize that while I was able to get myself changed into pajamas last night, that they aren’t at all appropriate for the current temperature. Alaska barks at me as she darts to the edge of the woods and back a couple of times before settling at my feet.

“Look at you, all energetic and ready to take on the world,” I say, trying to keep up with her. “You must think I’m a mess.” She glances up at me as if to say,you are a mess. But it’s okay, you’re my mess.I chuckle at my internal dialogue. We stay here for a little while, and slowly, the pounding in my head starts to recede. Alaska is happy as can be and I start to feel a little more human again. I turn around and whistle for Alaska to follow me, and as I step back inside the house, the worst of the headache is behind me. Alaska, as usual, is already thinking about her next meal, sitting by her bowl and staring up at me like I’ve failed her in some way by not providing a second breakfast, and I suddenly remember the anonymous package I had set on the couch last night.

Leaving Alaska where she is sitting, I step into the still half unpacked living room and see the package where I left it. Alaska watches me, her ears perked with equal curiosity, but when she realizes it’s not food, she loses interest. Carefully, I peel back the paper, revealing a plain cardboard box. Inside, nestled in shredded paper, is another little box. When I open it, I freeze—staring back at me is a military patch. It’s initially unfamiliar, but then a cold wave washes over me as I make the connection. I’ve seen this patch before…

My stomach churns.

I reach for the note that’s underneath it, my hands shaking. The ink is slightly smudged, but the words are loud and clear, even as the ringing starts in my ears.

I see everything, little viper. Even when youcan’t see me.

I know now, this is no longer a coincidence. The feeling that’s been haunting me, the dread that has followed me in my quiet moments—it’s real.They’re real.

The final line makes my blood run cold:

You’ll see me soon, whether you want to or not.

The coffee I have fought so hard to keep down suddenly threatens to make an appearance and I have to rush to the restroom, barely lifting the toilet lid before spewing a nasty combination I don’t want to think about into the bowl. I don’t know how long I kneel there, my body convulsing with each violent wave. The mix of coffee and wine is unforgiving, churning in my stomach like acid and clawing its way back up. My hands grip the cold porcelain, desperately trying to hold myself steady, but the nausea seems endless. Every time I think it’s over, another wave hits, forcing me to retch again until there is nothing left and I’m only dry heaving.

Finally, when I think I’ve emptied every last bit of my stomach, I slump against the wall, gasping for air. My head spins, my headache rising with vicious revenge, and it’s only then I realize I’m still clenching the note. The patch and box forgotten on the floor somewhere. I smooth out the edges that my hands have damaged, my fingers trembling, rereading it until my eyes cross. The words stick in my mind like a sickening chant. My stomach churns again, but there’s nothing left to expel. Why? Why is he doing this?

The question echoes in my mind, a scream that won’t escape my throat. What does he want from me? What does he think he’s going to achieve by this… this obsession? My hand shakes as I fold the note back up, but I can’t seem to let go. I can’t seem to stop reading it, even though I know it’s only pulling me deeper into his twisted world. A part of me wants to run away from him as fast as I can, and another part… a darker part… I stand, my legs unsteady beneath me, the cold tile floor beneath my feet a sharp contrast to the heat surging through my body. The headache pounds like a drum in my skull, each throb pulling me closer to a breaking point I don’t know if I can handle.

I step back toward the box and the patch, my mind in a fog of confusion and fear. He’s out there. Watching. Waiting. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I freeze. What if he’s closer than I think?

Chapter

Eight

FLETCHER

“I’m five out—is everything ready on your end?” I ask Nathan through the earpiece I’ve placed as I steer my car towards the location.

“Waiting on you,” he grunts.

“I always hate this part,” I mumble. Knowing the role that I have to play the moment I walk into this warehouse.

He sighs on the other end. “The anticipation ain't much better over here. At least you have a visual and not just your imagination to play along with everything that could go wrong if they discover your true identity. The one thing we have to remember is that the kids will hopefully be safer by the end of this, and more assholes will be dead and in the ground, or locked up permanently.”

“Yeah,” I reply, a touch of unease creeping into my voice like it does every job. “Just keep your end tight. That’s the important part. No surprises, right?”

Nathan chuckles softly, though it’s strained. “That’s the plan. Surprises are for parties, not missions, so just stick to the cover story. They’re expecting a buyer, not a threat. They don’t know you, only the name we gave you. Keep it that way.”

I breathe in, bracing myself as I park just out of sight of the warehouse entrance. Through the windshield I can see figures moving inside, their shadows tall and twisted in the dim light. “If this goes sideways…”

Nathan cuts me off, “If it goes sideways, we regroup and hit hard. Don’t lose focus—kids' lives are on the line.”

It doesn’t matter how many times we’ve done this; my nerves always seem to get the best of me, but Nathan's words always have a way to settle over me like a cold blanket. “Right. Stay in character, don’t break it. Just another deal.”

I check my reflection one last time in the rearview, wiping away the last traces of doubt from my face. “Guess they’re about to meet the buyer of their nightmares.” Gripping the handle as I step out of the car, I approach the towering metal doors, each movement as deliberate as my cover demands. I can’t afford to mess this up, not now and not ever. The kids, Nathan, the entire operation—we all depend on my keeping it together. One last deep breath. I knock, a specific sequence I was given when originally meeting up with the traffickers. I feel Nathan’s watchful silence on the other end of the line as the door opens, and I will my face to remain impassive as the sheep stares back at the wolf in disguise. My pulse drums in my ears but I steady it, breathing slow and even, letting the smirk settle into something cold, unreadable.

The ringleader, a stocky man with a scar slicing across his jaw, studies me for a beat before jerking his head towards the far side of the room. “You’re late.”

I raise an eyebrow, shrugging with indifference as I look at the watch on my wrist knowing damn well I showed up just on time. These assholes just like to posture. When I approach him, one of his hired hands pats me down, searching for weapons. Of course I don’t have my guns, those would be too obvious. But what they missed were the rings and necklaces that hold a sharp surprise. “When you’re ready to do business, I’m here. Now let’s not waste more time.” My tone is as icy as his gaze. I catch movement in my peripheralvision—small figures, huddled in the shadows near the back. The kids. They’re barely visible, just frightened faces peeking out from behind crates. My stomach knots, my fists clenching, but I quickly release them. The ringleader sneers, gesturing toward the crates stacked between us and the kids.

“Goods are over there. You got the cash?”

I reach for the folder that’s inside my coat before tossing it at his feet without a word, every gesture calibrated to show I’m just another ruthless buyer. Inside, though, every instinct is screaming. The urge to end this charade now and get the kids out immediately is overwhelming. But Nathan’s voice crackles softly in my ear, grounding me.

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